


Held against a wall

by Deancebra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alley Sex, Beating, Blood and Violence, Fights, M/M, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Smut, Wall Sex, barfight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deancebra/pseuds/Deancebra
Summary: Dean gets into yet another barfight. But where he would usually get home and get a lecture from Sam, he find himself fucked hard in a back alley.





	Held against a wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remmyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remmyme/gifts).



> OK, DO NOT READ IF:  
> \- Porn with nothing even looking like a plot isn't your thing. Squint all you want, this is just sex.  
> \- Someone getting off on beatings is noot your cyp of tea  
> \- Manhandling ain't your thing either 
> 
> It is shameles slightly bloody smut. I don't feel ashamed at the least.
> 
> Gifted for the wonderful RemmyMe who came up with everything that could remind you slightly of a plot, the good part of the dialog and for beta'ing!

Dean hadn’t meant to end the night in a fight. He really, really hadn’t. He’d just tried to flirt with the redhead; been smoking hot and leaning flirtingly over the pool table, boobs showing nicely over the low-cut tee she was wearing. So what if her flirting wasn’t meant for him? There was a chance that she was more into him than the rough piece of man she had made out with earlier. So when the tough guy decided to take a bathroom break, Dean took it as his chance to catch her eye across the room, get her attention through the universal language of dive-bar flirting.

She was more than up for it, too; returning his winks with a grin, letting him come close to show her how best to adjust her grip on the cue. She was wearing a nice perfume.

“What are you doing?” a voice snarled from behind him. He hadn’t even noticed the maybe-boyfriend move closer towards him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been too caught up in a game for that to happen.

“Her. Later. Hopefully.” He nodded towards the redhead, currently lining up a shot on the opposite side of the table. She seemed to be enjoying their conversation, if her smirk was anything to go by.  

“She’s not free.”

“Oh,” Dean said, slowly looking up the length of rough-guy, smirk on his face. Then he deliberately cut his eyes back to the redhead, openly admiring her cleavage as she leans forward over the table. “Shame,” he added, eyes still on her.

The guy seemed to want to say more but was called over to the table by the women. His turn, apparently.

Dean let himself pretend he wasn’t disappointed, at that.

Dean backs off for the moment, but kept his eyes on the maybe-girlfriend. Just because mister no-fun skinhead said she wasn’t for him to take, well, that didn’t necessarily mean she agreed. He sat down back at the bar, ordered another beer. She was a grown woman, she could say yes or no herself.

Dean was pleasantly buzzed when he left the bar, making his way to Baby parked at the far corner of the parking lot. He wasn’t  _ drunk, _ by any means, and felt more than clear enough to drive responsible.

The door to the bar opened and closed again, two sets of shoes hurrying towards him. Dean didn’t even have time to turn around before someone grabbed him and shoved him against the hood of the nearest car and knocking the wind right out of him. Groaning, Dean tried turning his head, tried to get a look at his ambushers. They were talking above him in hushed, angry voices, as if they had no idea what to do with him.

They turned him around and pushed him forward. Stumbling, Dean managed to grab at rough-guy from the bar - his attacker #1, apparently - but his idiot crony grabbed at Dean’s arms before he could get proper leverage, twisting them back and into an unnatural, painful position behind him. Dean couldn’t do a thing unless he wanted to dislocate his shoulder, and Sam would be so  _ pissed. _ Rough-guy then decided to get his attention by landing a punch to his jaw so hard that Dean saw stars. Dean felt blood run down his chin, grinning wide at the guy handing out the punches. Not man enough to take Dean down himself  _ and _ wearing a ring? What a joke. 

Dean let out a grunt as rough-guy laid further into him, raining down punches at his face, chest and gut. Dean took them all, deciding then and there he might as well play with them. They wanted him begging to stop, they wanted him in pain, but Dean had taken harder beatings than this and definitely wouldn’t be giving them that pleasure.

He was feeling fucking high; endorphins rushing through his body and mixed in with adrenalin. So what if his jeans where feeling way too tight around his groin, his dick throbbing with the heated blood running through him? It was just biology. Blood pumping, emotions high, it all had to go  _ somewhere _ .

One particular punch to his stomach made Dean lose his air on a wheeze, buckling forward so that his arms hurt from the strain. More came his ribs, his chest. It felt as if it should hurt. It didn’t. Rough guy took a step closer, watching him closely, lip curled in contempt.

“That’s all you got, asshole?” Dean taunted, could feel his lip where he had split it as he smiled towards the skinhead. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. It felt so god damned good. Endorphins were fucking great.

“The fucker likes it,” the guy holding Dean noted with disgust in his voice.

Skinhead sent Dean wheezing with another fist to his stomach. Not that that made him smile any less. The next punch landed to his jaw, same as the first. He could feel his head roll to the side, the stretch in his neck, and  _ fuck _ if that didn’t feel good.

Skinhead seemed to realize it, too. “Fucking fag,” he snarled, stepping away so his partner-in-crime could push Dean away. Their faces were screwed up in disgust, and all he managed to do was laugh at them, too far gone on the high of a fight to really give a shit on what they called him. They had beaten him up for staring at that girl, right? That wasn’t exactly the  _ gay _ thing to do, was it?

Dean felt dizzy as they moved away, panting with a hand braced against the hood of the car they’d initially pushed him against. He spit out blood, tried drying his mouth on his jacket.

The two assholes leave. Taking longer than Dean would care to admit, he eventually gathers the strength to start making his way over to the Impala.

 

“Dean? Dean? What did you  _ do _ ?” A familiar, gravel voice interrupted Dean’s pointless try at getting the taste of blood out of his mouth. “Let me heal you.” God, fuck, why is he even  _ here? _

Dean hurriedly moved away, putting distance between him and the angel. “No!” he said, practically a shout. “No, Cas! I’m fine. Back off.”

“You don’t seem fine.” Cas sounded almost angry, and Dean looked at him for the first time, seeing Cas’s eyes stray from his bloody lips and down over his body. The tee he’d worn was dark, hiding the worst of the bloodstains, thank god, or Cas would have worried a lot more and Dean’d never get him to leave him be. 

The angel licked his lips, eyes stopped and stuck at Dean’s groin, where he’s still painfully hard in his pants.

“Why do you do this, Dean? Why would you punish yourself so?” Cas asked, dark and angry _. _ “If you want to hurt,  _ fine _ , but I will not abide you being so careless.”

Dean scoffed. “Jesus, Cas, I could have handed it!”

“No.” Cas said, his voice a core of steel. “If you want to hurt, next time come to me.”

Dean’s breath caught at Cas’s unexpected words. He couldn’t mean…? “Fuck Cas…” he said, “It’s not. It’s not a  _ thing _ , Jesus, it just happened!” 

Dean should know better than to lie to an angel of the fucking lord.

Cas ignored him completely, stepping forward and Dean tried pushing him away, tried getting out and away _ , _ dammit; he was not supposed to be turned on, here, he was not supposed to want Castiel’s eyes straying over his body or his hands in any other way than in a healing touch.

Dean didn’t get far. Sometimes, somehow, he always forgot how fast Cas was, when he wanted to be. A strong hand grabbed Dean’s arm, directly over of one of his defensive bruises.

Dean groaned.

Something darkened in Castiel’s expression, his pupils blown wide.

“Your pants seem awfully tight, Dean.” Cas noted, his voice even deeper than usually. Dammit, Dean’s dick did  _ not _ react to that. “Do you need me to do something about that?”

“Cas…” He found himself whimpering where there should have been a firm  _ hell no. _

The angel seemed to take that as a yes, dragging Dean with him into the nearby bar alley and pushing him roughly against the wall.

“Uhmpf,” Dean managed, breathing in air as much as he could. Skinhead had seemed strong, but compared to Cas he could just as well have been a single salty drop compared to the mighty ocean.

“You have  _ any _ idea what it does to me, seeing you touched by others?” Cas pressed against his thigh, hard and ready. “I want to  _ smite _ them, Dean, for placing their filthy hands on you.”

Dean tried forming an answer when Cas then licked up his neck, over his jawline to kiss him hard and filthy, Dean’s lip throbbing where it had been split. He tasted like blood and wrath as he licked his way into Dean’s mouth. Dean did most certainly  _ not  _ moan.

Cas’ lips don’t stay one place for very long, moving down to bite and lick at Dean’s neck and collar. Dean’s jacket had fallen somewhere along way, and Dean really should have been upset about the blood and dirt on the leather, but couldn’t seem to find will to care, not even when a ripping sound and a rush of chilly air to his abdomen announced that Castiel had seen fit to murder his shirt. Lips and teeth scraped against Dean’s jaw, nipping, kissing, biting their way down, painfully slow.

“Oh fuck.” Dean did  _ not _ groan as Cas sucked behind and just below his ear - how the hell had the angel figured out his weak spot? - and Dean was  _ definitely _ not grinding against the angel’s firm thigh, desperate for friction. It was just… 

It felt good. Biology. If he closed his eyes he could imagine a girl instead. Yeah. He wasn’t so turned on it hurt because of  _ Castiel,  _ no, it was… It was the thought of dirty sex alley. The thought of being manhandled into the wall, turned around and face shoved to the brick and hands on his hips and _ fuck, _ no. Bad thoughts, Dean, but oh, god, he’s so hard. Dean whined as a calloused hand found its way down his pants, rubbing against his sensitive, leaking cock, smearing slick precome over the head. 

Fuck. Fuck _ ,  _ fuck, fuck it all _. _ Dean was, without a question, moaning like a bitch.

Along with a scrape of teeth against that perfect sensitive spot on his neck, the throbbing from his wounds and the bruises that Cas very deliberately had a hand on, Dean was stupidly to coming in his pants like a teenager. Damned, it felt good.

_ “Cas,” _ Dean groaned as the angel bit and sucked down his collarbone, without a doubt marking him. Sam was so going to kill him. “Oh. Oh. Don’t…”

“Don’t what, Dean?” the fucker had the balls to ask.

“Don’t stop,” Dean choked out, words almost impossible for him to form. He was in too deep, brain fuzzy with the need to come. How and with whom no longer important.

Deans hips moved on their own accord, thrusting into Castiel’s hand, seeking out the orgasm that had been building pretty much since the guys had grabbed him. He hissed when the angel removed his hand. Where had his pants gone? Oh god. A lube-covered finger ran across the crack of his ass, Cas holding him close. Damnit, why wasn’t it  _ in _ already? Dean willingly spread his legs, letting Castiel do whatever the fuck he pleased as long as he hurried it up. After all, it’s not like Dean’s never been fingered before. Cas pressed in deep and Dean welcomed the intrusion, the burning feeling of being stretched leaving him gasping for air. Long, strong fingers slowly moved in and out of him, teasing, too slow, not enough.

“Please.”

Cas added another and crooked his fingers, brushing unerringly to Dean’s prostate. Dean wanted to say something, wanted the angel to stop with the prep and just  _ do it.  _ His body ached with need as Cas continued finger him slow, smirking, eyes dangerously dark with want.

“You want more, boy?”

“Ye… yeah,” Dean managed as the fingers pushed against his prostate again.

“You want me to fill you up? Fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk straight for the next week?” Cas asked, voice dipping deeper as he kissed as he nipped along Dean’s neck.

Dean hesitated, not wanting to admit out loud that it was exactly what he wanted.

“Dean?” Cas voice forced him out of his head, demanding, rough and low. Something in Dean shifted.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes, what?” It sounded like a threat.

“Yes. Please.”

Cas withdrew his fingers. He was still fully dressed while he had Dean completely naked save for his jeans pushed to his ankles. Which should not have been as hot as it was, they’re in public, god damnit. Dean watched, greedy, as Cas opened his pants, letting them pool around his ankles along with his boxers. 

His mouth definitely wasn’t watering at the sight of Cas’ dick, and he did not,  _ did not, _ want to get down on his knees, taste it, suck it.  

The angel smirked at Dean knowingly as he covered his erection with lube, letting Dean get a good view. How was that supposed to get in him? What Cas was holding would have been better fit on a porn star than an angel of the freaking lord. Before that very moment Dean would’ve said, without hesitation, that angels had no use for such well-shaped dicks. 

Damn it, Dean just wanted it in him already.

Castiel pushed him against the wall, pulling Dean’s legs around his hips and aligning his hard, pulsing dick with Dean’s dripping wet hole. Dean’s naked back scrapes roughly over the brick of the wall, painful and good. 

Cas’s hands grabbed tight to Dean’s buttocks, lifting him effortlessly to slowly lower the human onto his cock, giving Dean plenty of time to adjust to the stretch. Cas has big hands and long, gorgeous fingers but fuck if three were  _ nothing _ against the width and feel of Cas’s cock pushing deep. Oh, god.

Cas filled Dean completely, balls-deep and fucking perfect but then he stopped _ , _ holding still and Dean pinned above him for so long Dean started to squirm, begging without words for friction, movement,  _ anything. _

“Good boy,” Cas murmured, withdrawing his hips before slamming back in. He held Dean effortlessly, Dean’s back scraped raw against the wall as Cas fucked him harder. Dean’s entire weight was held by Cas, leaving Dean entirely dependent on Cas’s strength and with nothing to do other than to hold on and take whatever Cas gave. Dean quickly became lost in the sensation of being filled, so good, his back burning and hair caught and pulling on the rough brick with every thrust.

“Ca-as,” he moaned as the angel shifted angles and nailed his prostate. Dean could feel a smirk curl against his neck before Cas repeated that exact movement.

It took embarrassingly short time before Dean was spilling over his own stomach and Cas’ shirt. Cas fucked him relentlessly through his orgasm and continuing even after after, completely merciless. Dean was beyond oversensitive, raw, when Cas finally started to lose his perfect rhythm, frantically moving towards his own release. Dean could  _ feel _ Cas’s dick pulsing inside him as the angel came.

Cas seemed to enjoy the feeling of being inside Dean, staying pushed deep even when he was barely hard anymore, kissing, nipping his neck, praising him. He eventually withdrew, slowly lowering Dean to his own feet. Dean immediately sagged to the wall, knees feeling weak and undeniably shaky. Two fingers were then placed to his forehead, some of the pain disappearing and clothes suddenly covering Dean’s body once again, his tee alive and un-ripped again.

“Let’s go home,” Cas murmured, softly, and grabbed Dean to mojo them back to the bunker in less than a blink. Dean couldn’t even complain, knowing the Impala would also waiting for him in the garage, if he’d had the energy to go check.

Dean could feel the sticky remnants of his own come in the fine hairs on his stomach as well as the seeping, wet stickiness in his ass and between his cheeks. He loved it.

Not that he would ever admit so out loud, of course.

 

Sam was sat at the war table, laptop open before him. He took one look at Dean and rolled his eyes, turning back to his research without a word.

Dean’s brows lifted in surprise. What, that’s it? Where was the worry? The lecture about not needing to get into a fight every time he was at a bar? Dean hurried to the bathroom, walking as straight and even as possible so Sam wouldn’t get any wrong ideas. 

Dean got to the bathroom and stopped dead, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Oh. 

It was immediately obvious that Cas had seen fit to heal all the damage the men from the bar had inflicted, leaving Dean’s face and arms whole and undamaged. Cas did not, however, heal his own bites and bruises to Dean’s jaw and neck. 

Well...that explained Sam, at least.


End file.
